His Royal Highness(49)

“How have you been lately? I texted you earlier, but I figured you were busy.”

Since I’m here now, at a bar, it appears I clearly had time to respond to his text, I just chose not to. I look like an asshole. I want to tell him I rushed straight from rehearsals to Carrie’s to this bar. I haven’t even glanced at my phone since lunch, but that’s a lame excuse.

Instead, I apologize. “Sorry. I suck. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you dumped me as a friend. I think I might belong in another century, back when carrier pigeons were the quickest method of communication. I feel like that might be the exact speed at which I can carry on a conversation successfully.”

He laughs. “Noted. Next time I want to talk to you, I’ll need to capture and train a pigeon first.” I laugh and he shrugs, continuing, “It’s really kind of my fault for pestering you in the first place. I think another guy might take a hint, but I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like giving up just yet.”

I frown, unsure of what to say. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, and it’s not like I need space—I want him to continue texting me. Right? Though if that were the case I’d probably answer him every now and then.

Oh god.

Truthfully, I’m a mess, and realizing this while carrying on a conversation with someone isn’t exactly ideal.

I move my mouth to speak but no sounds come out. I’m only making this more and more awkward.

Ryan shakes his head. “Forget I said that, all right? I’m going to go grab a beer and I’ll be right back. Stay put, okay?”

Once he’s gone, I sip my beer and pull a face at how disgusting it is, barely managing to swallow it without doing a spit take all over myself. I usually like beer, but this stuff tastes like actual urine.

I set it back down, glance at the door, and watch as it opens and a couple walks in arm in arm. It swings shut behind them and my shoulders sag.

I forget how bad the beer is, take another sip, and cringe.

Whitney, c’mon!

I shove it away and look back at the door as it swings open a second time.

Two more non-Dereks walk in and I hate them for the fact that they aren’t him. Who invited them anyway?

I should have asked Ryan to get me a better drink because I could use one right now. If nothing else, it’d just be nice to have something to do while I sit here, waiting on tenterhooks.

Thomas and Carrie have their heads bent together at the bar, and in another time and place, I’d feel happy for them, but there’s no room for any emotions when I’m already filled to the brim with anxious longing.

Ryan makes it to the bar and orders, and I glance back at the door in time to watch it swing shut. Derek has arrived and the strings he’s tied around my heart pull taut. He scans the room, looking for our group, or maybe just looking for me. My stomach dips like I’m toeing the edge of a high dive.

I have just enough time to soak him in, just enough time to see him in his jeans and brown leather boots and pale gray sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looks so startlingly out of place here, an obvious transplant. He’s the epitome of refinement; there is no dressing him down or fitting him into a casual mold. His face is too handsome. His features are too striking. His chocolate brown eyes rimmed with dark lashes draw too much attention, and I’m not the only one staring at him now, sending up a silent prayer that I’ll be the one he’ll spend his time with.

A brunette near the door straightens her shoulders and fluffs her hair, trying to catch his eye. I don’t blame her one bit. I am her.

He keeps scanning and his brows furrow just before he glances at our group and finds me.

Bullseye.

His mouth hitches, and for a moment, he lingers there, unmoving.

Warmth floods through me, curling my toes, making it hard to breathe.

Hi, I say with a small shy wave. You found me.

Told you I would come, his smile replies.

My eyes roll. Took you long enough.

With a shake of his head, he starts cutting through the crowd to get to me, and I’m suddenly nervous. I’m shaking.

I look down at my trembling hands and try to will myself to calm down. It’s terrifying to realize that no matter how much I’ve tried to talk myself out of loving him, it’s proven impossible. I’m wholly outmatched.

Taller than most everyone else, it’s easy to track him as he descends on me. I stay perched on my stool and then he’s there and I’m inhaling his spiced cologne as he leans down to kiss my cheek.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to get some work done.”

“It’s okay. You smell good,” I tell him.

“I showered.”

“Me too.”

His eyes glance down my body. “Is that the outfit Carrie forced you into? I like it.”

“Thanks. Don’t tell her, though, or she’ll keep trying to dress me.”

He zips his lips and reaches for my beer, taking a sip without asking.

“It’s not good,” I say after he swallows.

His mouth is a wrinkle of disgust. “Could have warned me first.”

“I’ll buy you a better one.”

He finds that notion funny. The twinkle in his eye tells me so.

“What? Never had a girl buy you a beer?”

I poke his chest and he catches my hand, twisting it so he can lace our fingers together before he thinks better of it and lets go.